


Closer

by veramendacious



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Clothed Sex, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Grinding, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:23:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veramendacious/pseuds/veramendacious
Summary: "You're allowed to want to feel good, Jon," he says quietly, and Jon releases a long, slow breath. "You sounded like you were feeling good. I want that for you, however you want it.''Or: Martin wakes to find Jon rubbing off on him in his sleep and doesn't mind at all.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 161





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up this morning and wrote 2k of extremely ace smut. I'd call it a good day.
> 
> No genitals are described, and Martin is not actively involved in Jon getting off. Jon expresses some internalized acephobia but it's not the focus and Martin is quick to validate him.

Martin wakes suddenly.

He blinks up at the ceiling, barely visible in the soft pre-dawn light filtering through the curtains. The bed under him is soft, and he can't quite bring himself to tense up as he sleepily scans the room for anything out of the ordinary that might have pulled him from his slumber. Everything seems exactly as it should be - he is cozy under the heavy quilt pulled up to his shoulders, the air in the room is comfortably cool and still, and Jon is tucked up under his arm, plastered against his side, right where he belongs.

In his sleep Jon appears to have dragged himself as close to Martin as he could. His hair spills out over the blanket from where his head rests on Martin's chest, nose poking cold and sharp into his collarbone. One hand clutches tightly at Martin's shirt. He can feel a foot hooked around his ankle.

He is so warm, radiating heat throughout Martin's body, melting any last lingering shards of loneliness that might still be lodged in his chest. He tightens his arm around Jon's shoulder, pulling him impossibly closer.

Jon _moans_.

It's a quiet sound, pulled low and hoarse from his throat, but in the early morning peace of the bedroom it seems to crash off the walls and reverberate through Martin down to his bones.

Nightmares, Martin thinks. It's his second thought, but it must be the only explanation, because his first thought, his first wild impulsive thought at hearing _that_ noise come from _Jon_ is wrong, of course, there's no way -

Jon's foot slides up Martin's ankle and hitches around further up his leg, pulling himself even closer in a slow, unmistakable grind against Martin's hip. His breath shudders out, damp and hot on the collar of Martin's shirt.

Martin is abruptly wide awake. Jon is more than warm, he realizes. Jon is... _w_ _armed_ _up._

"Jon?" he whispers. He gets no response other than the hand fisted in his shirt slowly loosening and tightening again.

He has to wake Jon up, he decides, even as a misplaced sense of warmth washes through him at the thought of Jon feeling relaxed and comfortable enough to - to what? Get horny in his sleep? It's surprising, certainly, but not entirely out of the question based on the vague explanation Jon had stumbled through about his relationship with sex. He'd settled on "unpredictable, rare but sometimes yes." Martin had set aside any expectations, content to let Jon take the lead. He is sure that lead doesn't extend to something Jon isn't conscious for, though.

He gently touches the back of Jon's head, trying to ease him awake, not wanting to startle or embarrass him. "Jon," he murmurs again, a little louder, stroking his hair softly. At the touch Jon moans again, the sound cutting off as he turns his face into the crook of Martin's neck. His mouth is open and hot against Martin's rapidly quickening pulse, and his hips roll again, languid and slow as he pushes himself against Martin's side.

Martin closes his eyes for a moment, gathers his resolve. "Jon," he says firmly, and gives his shoulder a little shake.

Jon wakes with a low gasp, glancing around the room as he does the same spot check Martin had done. Martin can see the exact moment he realizes what's happening; his loose, relaxed form goes impossibly tense and he immediately tries to shove himself away from Martin's body, already muttering out a nonsensical "sorry" in a low, gravely voice.

"Hey, hey, no," Martin soothes, catching his hand before he can roll away entirely. He keeps his other arm wrapped around Jon's shoulders, loose enough that Jon can continue to wiggle away if he wants but also making it clear that he wants Jon to stay. "You're all right.''

Jon stills, his body still rigid, and blinks up at him. Martin can't quite see his face in the mostly dark room, but Jon's gaze is a weighty thing.

"I'm sorry," he says again, but already he's starting to lose that tension. Martin brushes a finger along Jon's hand, uncurling his clenched fingers, stroking the thin skin of his wrist where his pulse still hammers in his veins.

"You don't have to be sorry,'' he says gently, pushing as much sincerity into his voice as he can.

Jon doesn't reply in words, just ducks his head back down to nestle under Martin's chin, catching Martin's fingers and twining them with his own. It says more than any words could. Martin presses a kiss to his soft hair and thinks carefully about what he wants to say.

"I know we haven't discussed exactly this," he begins, smoothing a hand up Jon's spine, "but… I don't mind."

He waits a long moment, feeling the tickle of Jon's eyelashes against the skin of his neck as he considers this.

"You don't mind?" The words come out hesitant, almost incredulous.

Martin almost laughs. Christ, he loves this man. "I really don't," he says. "You can, you know. Keep going. If you want." There's another short silence and he hastens to add, "Or not! It's up to you, of course it's up to you. But if you wanted, _if_ you wanted, I don't mind."

Jon pushes himself back up a bit, raises his head to look at him. Martin can't quite make out his features, can only vaguely see the outline of his sharp nose, the loose hair that tumbles over his shoulders.

"I wasn't lying before," he says, and he sounds oddly desperate. Martin's heart clenches. "It _is_ unpredictable. I don't know why tonight, or when or _if_ it'll happen again."

"I know," Martin says, smiling up at Jon's shadowed face. "I'm never going to expect anything from you, Jon."

Jon looks struck. His voice is small. "But I still don't want you… involved.''

This isn't unexpected. Jon had been very clear about his boundaries regarding _involvement_. "Do you want me to leave?" he asks gently, sincerely.

"No!" Jon's hand grasps at his shirt again. "No, I - I think I like you being here. I just, I can't… reciprocate. This is all I want." _It's selfish_ , he doesn't say, but Martin hears it loud and clear as his voice starts to take on that oh-so-familiar tone of guilt and self-loathing. He tightens his arms around him.

"You're allowed to want to feel good, Jon," he says quietly, and Jon releases a long, slow breath. "You sounded like you were feeling good. I want that for you, however you want it.'' He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind Jon's ear, smiles again when Jon leans into the touch and shivers a bit.

"Okay," he whispers hoarsely. "Okay." And he lays himself back down, pressed securely against Martin's side.

''Is this okay?" Martin asks, squeezing the arm still around Jon's shoulders and tugging ever so slightly on his hair. Jon swallows, his breath already coming a bit faster.

"Yes," he says. "Yes, that's… yes."

"Do what makes you feel good," Martin whispers. "Let me know if there's anything you want or don't want me to do."

"Just this," Jon breathes, and Martin feels the first hesitant roll of his hips against his side. "Just you.''

That sends a bolt of arousal shooting through Martin. He fights it down, not wanting to miss a second of this, of Jon slowly shuddering and gasping out little puffs of hot air.

Jon rocks against him, slowly at first and then faster as he settles into the motion. His hand on Martin's chest wanders up to his collarbone, sliding his fingertips just under the collar of his shirt to stroke over his skin. Martin holds him ever closer, runs tender fingers through his hair as Jon lets out another low moan.

"Is it good, sweetheart?" he asks, and Jon trembles, nodding, the movement of his hips under the quilt now frantic as he rubs against Martin's hipbone. "Good," he murmurs. "I want you to feel good. You deserve to feel this good.''

"I love you," Jon gasps, lifting his head just enough to press his mouth to Martin's jaw. It's not quite a kiss but it sends shivery sparks down Martin's spine.

"I love you too," he whispers, winding his fingers through Jon's lovely hair, and Jon _whines_ , mashing his face back down into Martin's chest as he jolts.

He is so beautiful like this, Martin thinks. Not just because it's hot or whatever - although it _is_ hot, it's the hottest thing Martin has ever seen, Jon unabashedly chasing his pleasure and using Martin to do it. No, it's the way the faintest pre-dawn light limns Jon's hair in silver, the way his hand scrabbles over Martin's chest, the way his eyes slip closed as he hauls himself ever closer to Martin.

The aching, certain trust he's showing Martin burns far brighter than any arousal he could feel.

Jon comes with a long, low groan, his stuttering and jerking movements slowing to a halt as he shivers in Martin's arms. Martin buries his face in his hair.

"You're so lovely," he whispers. "Thank you for sharing that with me.''

Under his hand, Jon's shoulders hitch.

"Jon?" He carefully raises a hand to cradle his cheek, concerned but not yet alarmed by the wetness beneath Jon's eyes.

"I'm okay," Jon croaks, leaning into Martin's hand. "I'm - I'm good." He lets out a huff of breath that's almost a laugh. "I'm _good_ ," he repeats, and the smile in his voice sends Martin's heart soaring.

"I'm glad," he says, and Jon flings himself down to wrap Martin up in a hug. He's still trembling slightly. Martin pulls the quilt up to cover his shoulders.

After a long moment Jon pulls back, scrubbing at his tear-damp eyelashes and looking faintly embarrassed. "I should, uh. Clean up.'' He makes no further move to leave the bed.

Martin feels impossibly fond. "Take your time," he says, and smiles at the grimace Jon tries to hide.

"No, I really should," he says with a small laugh, then starts the process of extracting himself from the blankets and Martin's grasp. He pauses at the edge of the bed and looks over his shoulder back at Martin. "Are you… do you need to...?"

Martin finally allows himself to acknowledge his own arousal, low and simmering. He is certain this moment will play a starring role in his thoughts later, but for now… "No, I'm fine,'' he says. "This was about you."

That, for some reason, puts a strangely vulnerable look on Jon's face. He leans back over, cups Martin's jaw, and kisses him long and slow. "I love you,'' he says again, this time speaking the words into Martin's mouth like a secret. "So much."

Martin lets himself tug on Jon's hair one last time, enjoys the slow shiver that travels up his spine and the way his eyes slip shut.

"I love you too," he says, and he means it more than anything he's ever said. "Now go hurry up. Come back and cuddle me."

Jon presses one last kiss to Martin's lips and slides out of bed, throwing a final lingering Iook over his shoulder before he disappears into the bathroom.

Martin stretches languidly and watches the room slowly brighten. Later, he'll hold Jon close and shower him with kisses and they'll talk about everything and nothing and it'll all matter just because it's the two of them together. For now though, he'll watch the sun rise and wait for Jon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
